


Actually, it Was More Like a Nightmare

by One_Chicago_Fanfiction



Category: Chicago PD
Genre: Biphobia, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Jay's dad kinda sucks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:16:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23935291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/One_Chicago_Fanfiction/pseuds/One_Chicago_Fanfiction
Summary: Months after his father's death, Jay dreams about the night he introduced his father to his boyfriend, and it didn't go so well.
Relationships: Jay Halstead/Adam Ruzek
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	Actually, it Was More Like a Nightmare

Months after the fact, Jay dreams about that night almost exactly as it happened. It’s actually more like a nightmare. It starts out quiet, gentle even, but from the very beginning Jay knows where it’s heading, remembers how it made him feel. And there’s a knot in his stomach, and there’s nothing he can do to escape what’s coming, nothing he can do but watch it all play out, reliving it all over again. He’s trapped. 

It looks a lot like this. 

It starts in the car. Adam’s at the wheel, Jay’s staring out the passenger window and biting absently at his nails. A telltale habit. He can sense Adam watching him, glancing away from the road and then back again. They’re overdressed, the pair of them. Adam’s new cologne is sweet and sharp and Jay can’t get enough of the scent. It’s almost a comfort. It’s not quite. 

“It’ll be okay, Jay,” Adam tells him. “It’ll be fine.”

His dad doesn’t come to the door, doesn’t get up out of his chair when Jay and Adam walk into the living room side by side, Jay’s heart in his throat even as he stands there, shoulders back, head high. He’s worked undercover before. He can pretend this night doesn’t have his stomach in knots. His father peels his gaze from the television long enough to look Adam up and down before he turns his attention back to his program. “This a dinner with my kid,” his father starts, “or a police interview? He’s a cop, right?”

“He is,” Jay says. “He’s also my boyfriend.”

The air in the room falls cold and still, and Pat Halstead turns the television off. 

In the middle of the most tense, least appetising dinner Jay has ever endured, his father speaks without looking at his son. 

“So all them girlfriends you brought home,” he says. “They were—what do you call them—masks?”

“Beards?” Adam offers, the first thing he’s said in a while. Jay shoots him a withering look and sees exactly how tense Adam seems, precisely how desperate he is to get out of here. Adam makes a face that says ‘What am I supposed to do here?’ Jay turns back to his father.

“No, pop,” he says, trying to keep his tone light, failing spectacularly. “Jeez. They were actual girlfriends.” A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by Adam’s cutlery against his plate, and his father’s chewing.

“So,” he says between bites. “It’s women, and it’s men?”

“Yep,” Jay says, and then he waits, as if he knows, as if he knew as much the first time he lived this as he does now, in this nightmare.  
“Well,” his father chuckles. “At least you’re not a fag.”

“Woah,” Adam says, cutlery down, hands up as if to mediate. “Time out.”

“Excuse me?” Jay stares at his father. “Say that again.”

“Jay,” Adam warns.

“Say it again,” Jay’s eyes don’t leave his father, who finally looks up from his food. 

“I’m just saying,” his father shrugs. “Don’t take it so personal, kid.”  
“You don’t get to use that word,” Jay says. “If it’s not a part of your identity, if you’re not talking about yourself, it’s not your word to use.”

“You’re saying it’s mean?” His father scoffs.

“I’m saying it’s hateful,” Jay says. “And I’m saying whether you like it or not, I am a fag. This, right here? This is me dating a guy. This is me assuming I’m gonna be dating this guy for the rest of my life. This is me asking you to shut your mouth and deal with it like some kind of normal human being. Think you can handle that?”

“Do we need to leave?” Adam asks, eyes on Jay. “Do you wanna go?”

And Jay hesitates, because it feels like if he leaves now it won’t just be now. It feels like if he leaves now, it could be the last time he sets foot in his father’s house. He doesn’t know. It’s just a feeling he has. 

And the worst part is, before he has a chance to decide, his father speaks first.

“Yeah,” he says. “You do need to leave.”

“I was asking Jay,” Adam says.

“And this is my house,” Pat says, and Jay pushes his chair back and pulls his jacket from the back of his chair.

“Don’t worry, old man,” Jay says. “We’ll get out of your way. Sorry for trying, okay?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t come here for a fight,” Pat says. “I’m just trying to understand.”

“Yeah,” says Jay, “in your usual pigheaded way.”

“I’m not a monster, Jay,” he says. “You wanna write it that way, so be it.”

“Come on,” Jay says, hand on Adam’s arm. “Let’s go.”

So they leave. They leave, and Jay slouches in the passenger seat on the way home, head tipped back, eyes slipped shut, and he swears to god he falls asleep and dreams the whole night over again, a nightmare within a nightmare—one they never got the chance to clear up before his father died. 

And Jay wakes up with a start, and for a moment he thinks he can fix things. 

And then he remembers. The only comfort in all of this is the sight of Adam, fast asleep at his side, a heat in his cheeks from the warmth of the room, his breaths full and deep, his lips slightly parted. Jay reaches for the lukewarm glass of water on the nightstand, takes a long swig, and settles back into the bed. With the shift of his weight, Adam’s eyes open and he pulls in a deep breaths, strains to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 

“Can’t sleep?” He whispers, clears his throat.

“I’m okay,” Jay says, combing fingers through Adam’s messy hair. “Go back to sleep. I love you.”

“Weird dream?” Adam asks, and Jay hums, settling into the warmth of the two of them under the covers.

“Actually,” he whispers, “it was more like a nightmare.”

“Hm,” Adam says, moving a little closer to Jay, slinging an arm over his chest, closing his eyes again. “Well, you’re okay now, baby. I got you. And I love you too.”


End file.
